


Count Up

by Phrenotobe



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: First Date, M/M, Panic Attack, Well almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: Brady reaches for the perfumed water on the table. After all the time he’s spent looking after himself just for this one night, he doesn’t want to ruin it with one piece out of place.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Jack, who is a wonderful and encouraging presence.

A date should be simple. Brady has the flowers on the chair, his hair down in the right places and up at the front where it should be. If he can stave off the nausea long enough, he’ll make the right impression. 

Oh, who is he kidding. He’s known Owain since he was two. 

Brady reaches for the perfumed water on the dark-stained table. After all the time he’s spent looking after himself just for tonight, he doesn’t want to ruin it with just one piece out of place. He splashes a palmful of musk either side of his neck, letting it dry as he walks around in a worry, doing up his buttons and fumbling every third. The smell of it on his skin is powerful enough that he begins to panic, throat tight though there’s nothing around it but the scent and his shirt collar, flipped upwards and touching his ears.

His heartbeat begins to hammer in his chest, hard enough to hurt. He curls a fist to press against his own sternum, pressing back as if he can push himself out of his own panic attack, trying to remember what his mother told him. He feels so stupid, so incapable. 

Downstairs, somebody is talking to his mother – the chime of her words too indistinct to make out. Brady sees himself in the mirror and forces himself to look out of the window, but the sky is grey and he can’t breathe. 

Boots on the stairway, heavy and assured. He can’t think, can’t swallow with a dry mouth. The door opens and there’s a yellow blur in the shape of a person. He can barely care; too close to crying and noiseless, empty of air. He can’t think. 

The touch on his back makes him jolt and hiccough, but their palm is warm and steadying.  
“Breathe in,” he hears, “One, two, three-”  
The instructions help, but so does the warmth within their voice. He can’t count all the way up to seven; makes four before he has to try again. The count starts over, regular as a metronome. As his breathing subsides, Brady becomes more conscious of his room; the dark wood of his bed and table, the blue sky beyond the window, dotted with cotton swab clouds. The calm of the man behind him, speaking slowly and fondly.

The warm hand on his back reaches for his wrist, curling around the tight grip of his fingers and pulling them gently apart to hold his hand, and a warm body presses against him; a broad chest against his back. It’s a huge comfort disguised as a hug, and tears sting his eyes even though the ache of his alarm is fading with every long breath he can draw. 

“You smell of the powerful thrum of mystery,” Odin says, tucking his chin into the angle of Brady’s shoulder, “What happened?”  
“I just,” Brady says, “I was worryin’ and thinkin’ too hard and then-”  
Owain’s mouth presses to the space behind Brady’s ear, and all Brady can do is sound a quiet, pleased groan.  
“Hark! The rumble of a glorious sound.”  
“Not right in my ear, ya jerk!”


End file.
